


Silver Things

by mautadite



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Multi, casual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/pseuds/mautadite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jet, Smellerbee, Longshot, and the pleasures of falling in love without quite realising it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stonestrewn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stonestrewn/gifts).



> For Ingrid. This is The Fic I Have Always Wanted To Write. Ingrid requested 'something about how Jet and Smellerbee and Longshot became as close as they were'. As is my custom, I didn't deliver exactly as requested, but close enough.

Smellerbee’s back is slender and trim. Her brown skin stretches tightly over the muscles and bones, pulling and pushing as she washes herself off in the stream. The two little bones beneath her shoulders stick out, especially when she reaches over to scrub the small of her back and lower. Her shaggy hair drips a little longer for being wet, sticking to her neck and sweeping across her shoulders.

It’s a little _too_ thin, Jet muses, sitting up a little as he removes the stalk from his mouth. He flips it over and under his fingers, twirling it on the tips in a play that feels as old as he is. And he feels pretty old. They haven’t eaten that well for the past few weeks, and rations are running lower and lower. The Fire Nation scum are becoming a little more careful about how and where they transport their foods and goods through the forest. Jet’s thumb flicks, snapping the twig in half just at the thought of it. Hiding from _him_ in his own forest. Some nerve. They’ll soon find out that there isn’t _anything_ he doesn’t know about in this place. His Fighters are going to eat well again, and soon.

This little stream is only one of the many things that the Fire Nation doesn’t know about the valley, and the woods that surround it. It’s hidden deep within the trees, approaching one of the cliffs, and requires a fifteen foot drop and a twenty foot climb to get to it; a route that would be too troublesome for the lazy slime. In fact, most of the other Fighters didn’t know about it either. Jet, Smellerbee, and Longshot came across it one day during a bout of training that had turned into a wild run through the forest. It has the air of one of those things you just don’t share. The high canopy of trees that gives the clearing a slight echo; the way the stream widens perfectly to create a suitable bathing spot; the way the silence seems stretchy and malleable. The first day, when they went back to the hideout, Jet didn’t tell any of the others about the gem they’d found, and Smellerbee and Longshot, as always, took their cues from him.

It’s useful, for times like these when he wants to relax, to think, to strategise without the noise and questions and bustle of the hideout. Smellerbee and Longshot are the perfect people to have along. They’re two of his strongest, and most loyal warriors. They won’t clutter his head with thoughts he doesn’t need, but with them, he’s never alone, even when they’re perfectly silent.

Leaves brush against leaves nearby; it’s a force of habit for Jet to sit up straighter, swiping his dagger out of the ground. It’s only Longshot, though, back from a short trip into the surrounding forestry. He comes back with his arms laden with fruits, and his hat slightly lopsided. Jet leans back, smirking his greeting, and Longshot smiles with his eyes.

Smellerbee is still washing up, back facing him. Every few minutes, she’ll disappear under the water, dunking her head and completely soaking her skin before resurfacing to concentrate on a different part of her body. This time, as she’s scrubbing her armpits, she glances back and catches Jet looking at her. She frowns a little, turning.

“What is it?”

Jet waves one of his hands casually, while the other hunts around in the nearby shrubbery for another suitable blade of grass.

“Nothing. Make sure you get all the ticks.”

Smellerbee scowls slightly, and ducks her head beneath the water again as he chuckles.

Longshot is taking off his clothes, having set the fruits down in a spot where the sun cannot touch them. He settles each article of clothing neatly, one on top of the other, before sliding into the stream. It’s not quite deep enough to get a good swim, but he tries anyway, making long strokes through the water, and cleans sweeps of his legs. Water splashes into Smellerbee’s face as if by mistake, but Jet knows it’s deliberate. He smiles as they start a fight that is really just Smellerbee pelting Longshot with handfuls of water as he makes a clean getaway.

Longshot is a little thinner than Jet would like as well, but it doesn’t show as much. He’s more muscled in the shoulders and arms, thanks to the tools of his trade, and he’s always been slim in the hips and waist. Jet glances across to the fruits Longshot brought. It’s a good haul; litchi nuts, berries, peaches, and a few apples. The three of them can have a slightly substantial lunch and still have leftover to carry back to the hideout. Hopefully, it’ll be enough for the day. When the three of them left, saying that they’d be back in a few hours, Sneers and Pipsqueak were making plans to catch a hogmonkey. It will be good if they’ve managed to. The animals have been scarce for the past few weeks as well. It’s been some time since they’ve last had a good haul of meat.

Not much sun filters through the thick curtain of leaves above, but it is enough so that Jet begins to feel vaguely uncomfortable. He has already rid himself of his outer armour; he now slips his shirt over his head, momentarily pulling a great deal of his hair forward into his face. His undershirt is damp with sweat and sticking to his chest. He’ll need to get into the stream himself soon, if they are going to make it back to the treehouse at the projected time.

As if reading his mind, Smellerbee calls over.

“Coming in, or what?” She is still absent-mindedly splashing at Longshot, who has settled down to bathe not far from her.

“Yeah, just gimme a minute.” Her voice brings his attention back to them, and he continues to watch them, not failing to notice the slightly disappointed look in Smellerbee’s eyes. He allows himself a small smile.

Come to think of it, things have been slightly... not different, that isn’t the word. _Changed_. The normal smooth efficiency of their trio has taken a slight hitch of a breath ever since they started coming to this clearing, ever since things changed with such imperceptibility that it is now hitting him like a falling tree in an empty forest, a whole year later. He’s been bathing with Smellerbee and Longshot for years and years now; growing up as they did, the need for modesty had paled deeply in comparison to the need for stealth and speed in everything that they did. The sight of their naked bodies is old news to him. He’s seen the mole on Longshot’s hip too many times to count. Ditto for the scar beneath Smellerbee’s right cheek. And he is sure they know his body just as well; they’ve seen the burns, they’ve seen the scars.

What is different now is that they aren’t surrounded by all of the other Fighters. Removing a couple dozen other unclothed bodies from the picture has switched things up quite a bit. Jet doesn’t care either way, but he is beginning to see how the other two carry themselves in a slightly different manner. Smellerbee’s hands are careful of where they stray while she bathes, and she covers her breasts whenever she can. Longshot is an old hand at communicating by touch, a simple hand on the shoulder, or nudge with his fist. But he now seems to avoid that, whenever they come to this little spot.

Jet smiles in a lopsidedly way, chewing slightly on the stalk of grass. Smellerbee has called Longshot over to her; he has several strands of weed and some leaves in his hair. He bows deeply to let her pull them out. Smellerbee seems oblivious to the fact that his nose is inches away from the brown tip of one of her nipples, but Longshot sure isn’t, judging by his colour. Jet chuckles, long and low.

He doesn’t intend to overthink the entire thing. He likes change when it goes his way, and though he didn’t foresee this, there’s nothing wrong with the way it’s going. So why stop it? Here, he is among the loyal, among the brave, among the trusted, in a place hidden away from all else. He doesn’t have anything to worry about. It’s a silver thing; it’s rare, and it gleams, and it shines.

The muscles in his legs and back give a pleasant creaking ache as he stands, stretching and rolling themselves out. He’s aware of eyes on him as he drops the rest of his clothes onto the ground, but as soon as he glances towards the stream, Smellerbee is back to being engrossed in getting the debris out of Longshot’s hair, and Longshot is intent on ignoring her breast.

“How’s the water?” Jet calls out. He walks over to the fruits, picking up an apple, a peach, and a few berries and nuts before striding towards the edge.

He expects Smellerbee to answer, but she just colours slightly, and then frowns, as if mystified and annoyed by her reaction. Instead, he hears that pleasant tone that never sounds hoarse from disuse, that always sounds pitch perfect. Longshot looks up before he speaks, locking eyes with Jet.

“It’s fine,” he says, and places a hesitant hand on Smellerbee’s shoulder. Jet’s eyebrows dip as he breaches the surface, grinning. The water _is_ nice; cool, without being cold and harsh. He dips the hand holding the fruits into the water for a quick rinse, still walking over to his friends, the water rising higher on his legs as he does. It’s almost at his hips when he stops next to Longshot, and helps pull a particularly long weed out of his hair. He shoots Smellerbee an amused look, and she shrugs.

“It’s a dirty stream.” She wrinkles her nose at a piece of seaweed as she extracts it, then plants her hands firmly on her hips. The movement makes her small breasts jump a bit. “Alright, that’s it. For the big ones, at least. Longshot, your hair’s a magnet for these things, or something.”

She’s going to lean closer, presumably to tackle the smaller ones, but Jet figures that Longshot deserves a break, before he combusts in embarrassment. Her movement is curbed by the hand that Jet rests on her shoulder. A little applied force coaxes her to take a step backwards.

“I’ll take care of it. Here, you take this.” The peach is in Smellerbee’s hands before she can protest. Longshot’s neck is warm and quietly muscled where Jet cups it, gently angling his head beneath the water before reaching up to thread through his hair, easing the last bits of scum and weed out of it. His friend stands perfectly still until Jet is finished, pulling him back up by the shoulder.

Longshot’s hair is plastered to his face when he resurfaces, rivulets of water streaming down his cheeks, neck, and back. Nodding a thank you to Jet, he gathers his hair and slicks it back. Smellerbee is watching them, peach cupped in both hands, chewing. There’s a little smear at the side of her mouth. Her cheeks are a dull red.

“Hold these,” Jet instructs Longshot, curbing a smile. The archer dutifully takes the fruits while Jet wades out into deeper water, until it laps at his waist. It feels good, washing away the sweat and dirt of the past couple of days; letting it dissolve and slide down the stream into nowhere. He dips beneath the surface, immersing himself, running his hands through his hair.

They eat quietly as he bathes. He can hear Smellerbee speaking through the rush of water in his ears, though he can’t look at Longshot to gauge his responses. From what he gathers, they’re discussing the last raid; a rapid overexertion of efforts that hadn’t yielded much; the wagons were only carrying a small cache of weapons and even littler food. Jet remembers taking out his frustration on the green soldiers; remembers with grim satisfaction how they yelped and ran.

His bath is a quick affair; it usually is. He scrubs at his skin roughly, letting his pores burn; he likes the feeling. It isn’t long before he’s walking back towards them, shaking his head vigorously.

“Hey!” Smellerbee protests with a small laugh. Her chest and shoulders, which had been on their way to drying, are now liberally dotted with droplets of water. She smiles at him, one of her rare, true smiles, and it’s a good feeling, to see it on her face, and know that he put it there. She looks away too soon, though. Longshot is looking at him, but his gaze is fixed upon a scar on his sternum.

Even if he isn’t over thinking it, it’s clear that they are. He can plainly see Smellerbee not knowing what to think, having one of those uncertain moments that irritate her so much. Longshot understands a bit better, but even with that small grain of knowledge that tells him that the three of them might be… something, he has no idea how to act on it.

Neither of them realise that they don’t have to do anything; just go on as before. Things like this, you don’t try to force. They fall into place themselves, whether you realise it, or want to, or not. Jet knows. He knows because he can imagine kissing Smellerbee as easily as he can imagine sparring with her; he knows because it doesn’t take much to envision himself resting a friendly hand not on Longshot’s shoulder, but on his waist, or his thigh.

This is a silver thing, and he means to treat it as such.

Jet laughs softly. He reaches for the stalk in his mouth, only to find that it was lost some time during his wash. Before he can look around for another, Smellerbee is thrusting one at him with a small grunt. He grins.

“How’d you know?”

She shrugs, smiling back a little.

“You look weird without it. ‘Sides, what else would you be looking around for?”

He laughs. She has a point there. He rests a fist on his hip, an eyebrow jutting upwards.

“Trying to say I’m predictable?”

The question catches her by surprise.

“Uh… uh, well—”

He laughs again, and grabs a few berries out of the hand that Longshot offers him. He downs them all in one go, chewing and swallowing quickly before placing the stalk at the tip of his lips. His hands get a quick rinse in the water, and he tilts his head to the sky. He can’t see the sun, but judging by the intensity of the light that filters through, hitting him in the brow, it’s time that they get going.

He cocks his head, about to give the order. That’s when he notices that Smellerbee is watching him with a frown. This time, when he looks back at her intently, she doesn’t avert her eyes.

“What is it?” he asks, wiping away a spot of juice on the corner of his lips with a thumb.

“You should eat some more,” she says, brows furrowed. Longshot nods vigorously in agreement. Jet’s only reply is his arched brows.

“I’m serious,” Smellerbee presses. “You’re getting kind of… skinny.”

There’s a long pause before Jet throws back his head and laughs. They both look at him as if he’s lost it, but he simply laughs a little more.

“Come on, you two,” he says, sliding an arm around each of their waists. Longshot tenses, and Smellerbee’s arms jump to her chest instinctively. Jet smirks at them, and presses a finger onto their hipbones, just because. He feels the tension slide from their bodies, slow but sure. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Sept. '09; edited Feb. '13._


End file.
